


C-A-S

by roselew



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Other, Pet Play, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselew/pseuds/roselew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester does not want an angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dean Winchester doesn't need an angel

“Dude, I’m telling you, we don’t need to be here.”

The building was large; filled with winding corridors heated to just-uncomfortable. Sam had urged him through the wide front doors with barely-restrained excitement, either ignoring or not noticing Dean’s lack of enthusiasm. A small man walked a brisk few steps ahead of them, wearing the same white uniform as everyone else Dean saw here, a name badge pinned to his shirt-front identified him as Chuck, and Dean was tempted to catch Chuck’s attention to stop him from leading them through these endless corridors, tell him it wasn’t necessary.

“Dean, come on. It’s for your birthday, right? I’m paying.”

Dean couldn’t repress his sigh at Sam’s grin.

“That’s not my point! I don’t want an angel.”

Sam didn’t even look at him, holding open the next door they passed through with one wide palm.

“Sure you do. Look, Dean, I know you’re against the whole slave thing, but it’s not that bad, really. Kinda like a puppy.”

Dean turned slightly, planning to tell Sam exactly how this was nothing like a puppy, and how he definitely did not want an angel, of all things, but it was then that Chuck paused, turned in front of the next set of doors, eyes flickering between the brothers. He seemed eternally jumpy and that didn’t do anything for Dean’s bad mood.

“They’re just through here. If you could…stay quiet. They get agitated easy and they’re in big groups, so…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, turning and pushing open the thick, metallic double doors, letting Sam and Dean pass before following himself. Dean didn’t miss the glance sent his way. Apparently the ‘stay quiet’ comment was meant for him.

It was smaller than he’d expected: low-lit compared to the bright corridors. Pens lined each side of the room, each holding a dozen or so figures. Dean couldn’t see any details from here, but the wide shapes of wings were visible in the shadows.

Chuck spoke again, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“Would you be taking it home today?”

Sam replied to the affirmative only after a short pause, and Dean followed the pair with a distinct lack of excitement.

Sam was familiar here: he had a collection of slaves at his place, though he favoured demons for some reason that was beyond Dean’s comprehension. He glanced around himself with the air of a child choosing a new pet, eyes wide and smile unfaltering and Dean couldn’t even attempt to echo his enthusiasm. He thought it was weird. Besides the wings, angels were pretty much…human. The way that most people used them you’d think the angels weren’t any better than dogs.

Chuck lead the way to the furthest pen from the entrance speaking while he pulled a handful of labelled keys from his pocket and selected the correct one.

“These are the ones ready to go today.” He slid the key into the lock, pushing the door open with a click and slide of metal against the stone flooring. The angels inside scuffled away, all of them retreating to the far wall in a group, flaring their wings defensively. “Go ahead and have a look. If you can’t see one you like, I can show you the others, though you’ll have to wait a while for those…” The end of his sentence failed him, again, but Sam was shoving Dean into the pen ahead of him so it hardly mattered anyway.

It was still, inside: the angels having pressed themselves together in the furthest corner of the room, ten pairs of eyes fixed warily on them, gradient shades of wings tangled amongst them until Dean couldn’t tell which pair belonged to which angel. Sam’s voice dropped automatically to just above a whisper.

“See one you like?

Dean’s first thought was that he didn’t like any of them, but Sam seemed to anticipate his answer before he could even begin to speak.

“Look, Dean, I get it. You don’t want one. But just…trust me on this, okay? If you decide you don’t want it you can bring it back.”

Dean heaved a sigh, and Sam seemed to interpret that as positive because he took a step forward. “You’ll want to choose the ones with two wings.” He pointed to an angel at the front of the group, a blond-haired male. A black chain hung around his wrist, like all the angels had, and Dean could barely make out the letters  _L-U-C_ pressed into the identification tag hanging from it. When the creature noticed the brother’s attention had turned to it, he straightened slightly, coming up into a crouch, wings spreading at its sides, confrontationally. It was only then that Dean noticed this one didn’t have a single pair of wings like he’d expected, but three, two larger pairs and a third, smaller. All of them were grey, darker toward the tips, fading back to white at his shoulders. Sam spoke again, voice even lower now. “The ones with more than two wings are archangels. Not exactly what you’d call ‘obedient’.”

Dean almost smirked at that. Maybe he’d choose an archangel, just to piss Sam off. He could see three archangels, different from the rest in that they held themselves slightly separate, sat up on the balls of their feet to examine the humans. Only  _L-U-C_ seemed aggressive, though, the other two simply curious.

Sam pointed again, this time to a smaller, red-headed female.

“You’d want one like her.” As their attention turned to her, she pressed closer to the angel beside her, turning her head away from their gazes. “Quiet, submissive. She wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Dean frowned, eyes scanning the mass of bodies, the dozen pairs of eyes staring warily back at them. He wouldn’t choose the female. She was one of only three females left: the others had probably been bought pretty early on. It wasn’t a secret that people liked to buy angels for reasons of a more…indecent nature than Dean would like to consider. It wasn’t surprising that the females would go first. It was for that reason that Dean didn’t want a female. He wouldn’t have Sam assuming that’s what the angel was for: just because Sam liked to do that with his slaves didn’t mean Dean had to.

Dean’s eyes lingered on a male at the back of the group, one of the smallest; almost boyish in appearance. Squinting into the dark, Dean could make out the letters  _S-A-M_  printed into the angel’s tag. Dean repressed a wince. He couldn’t have an angel with the same name as his brother. He caught  _S-A-M_ ’s grey eyes for a moment, watched the young angel’s gaze drop before casting his own elsewhere. He studied each angel briefly, finding in each one a reason not to claim them and he was okay with that. Hey, if he honestly couldn’t find one he liked, he didn’t have to take one, right? As he slid his gaze over the angels once again, prepared to tell Sam he couldn’t see one he wanted, movement caught his gaze, snapping it to attention.

What he had previously assumed to be a shadow between the bodies of two angels were in fact wings, pressed tight to the back of a male angel, skin barely visible at the side of each wing, back turned, Dean couldn’t see his face, dark hair obscuring any clear view Dean might have had of him. The wings twitched uneasily at the angel’s back, prompting the angels at his sides to shift before resettling. Without looking away, without really planning to say the words at all, Dean’s voice broke the silence in a low whisper.

“That one.”

Sam, apparently distracted by the other angels while Dean had been considering his own, turned slightly.

“Huh, which?” His eyes scanned the crowded creatures.

Dean gestured slightly. “That one at the back, with the black wings.”

Sam’s eyes searched a moment more before settling, face splitting into a wide grin.

“Told you you’d find one you wanted.”

Dean tried to peer around the angels, get a better look at the creature he’d be sharing his home with for at least a little while. Sam had left, leaning around the door and calling gently for Chuck. Despite his efforts, Dean couldn’t catch any details of the angel, and gave up with a sigh, turning his attention back to Sam and Chuck as they entered. Chuck muttered briefly to Sam, following Sam’s pointed finger to Dean’s angel. No, not  _Dean’s_  angel. Just  _an_  angel, Dean corrected himself. Chuck headed toward the grouped angels; they seemed more comfortable around him than they did Sam and Dean, though Dean assumed that came from familiarity.  _S-A-M_  crept away from the dark-winged angel as Chuck approached, sandy brown wings trailing after him. Dean watched as he settled beside the red-haired angel, plucking at her wing affectionately before Dean looked away.

Chuck had crouched beside the angel Dean picked, the angel’s face turned in-profile as he watched Chuck inspect his identity tag. Dean strained to make out the letters as they glinted in the faint light.  _C-A-S_. Alright, not too bad. No reason to reject the angel, Dean thought, almost dejectedly. He watched as Chuck collected the bases of  _C-A-S_ ’s wings in one hand, pulling them away from his back to inspect them quickly. Dean knew enough about the routine checks not to find it weird, though the angel seemed intrigued, face half-shadowed as he followed Chuck’s hands, testing the flex of his fingers and the condition of his feathers; examining a mostly-healed scrape on his hip that looked like claw-marks from where Dean stood. He eventually stood, urging  _C-A-S_  to straighten too, the angels wings relaxing away from his bare back for a moment before fitting back to the line of his shoulders. Dean noted the anxious flick of  _C-A-S’_ s gaze toward him for a brief moment, and hoped he hadn’t picked a frustratingly submissive angel like Sam made the mistake of doing a year ago.

Chuck hooked his forefinger beneath the chain around  _C-A-S_ ’s wrist, leading the angel toward them with a little hesitancy on  _C-A-S_ ’s part. Chuck actually broke a small smile, one that Dean felt himself returning even if he wasn’t 100% ecstatic about this whole ordeal. Chuck spoke lowly, eyes sliding across to the angel he had in his grasp.

“This is Castiel.”

At the mention of his name, Castiel’s eyes rose, meeting Dean’s briefly, snapping across to Sam’s before dropping. Blue; startling in contrast to his dark hair. His wings shifted behind him, pressing so close that the short feathers at their arches crushed against the line of his shoulder. Dean took him in: the wings he’d previously assumed to be black were in fact dark, buff brown, a match to his hair. He was slender, but not thin, strong beneath the slim frame, hipbones prominent above the waistband of his jeans. Dean still wasn’t convinced, but at least this angel wasn’t the worst he could have chosen. Chuck’s finger slid from the chain around Castiel’s wrist, and the angel startled, twitched, as if repressing the urge to hurry back to his fellow angels. Chuck spoke lowly, only to the angel now.

“You want to go say hello, Castiel?”

Once again, the angel’s gaze slid toward Dean, up the line of his body but never meeting his eyes. He deliberated for a moment, wings spreading minutely, instinctively defensive, before nodding. Dean heard, more than saw, Sam shift backward out of the way. He watched as Castiel paused for a few long moments, fingers flexing at his sides, before taking a first, hesitant step forward, sinking into a half crouch automatically, wings half-open at his sides, exposing the barely-paler underwings.

Those blue eyes never left him as Castiel came slowly closer, creeping on the balls of his bare feet, silent. His gaze occasionally caught Dean’s but never for long. As he came within touching distance, his eyes fell to Dean’s hand closest to him, he gave pause again, rocking backward on his heels, wings twitching, and whined lowly, deep in his throat. Chuck’s voice, while soft, was enough to make the angel startle.

“It’s okay, Castiel” Then to Dean, more directly. “He’ll be fine. They’re just a little skittish at first, that’s all.” Dean swallowed slightly, dropped his eyes to the angel again and forced a half-smile. He didn’t move, but figured he could risk speaking. The angel would have to get used to it sooner or later. Nevertheless, his voice was soft, barely breaking the silence.

“Hey, Castiel.”

Castiel’s eyes rose, lingered on Dean’s. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak, shifting lightly on his feet.

Dean continued regardless. “I’m Dean.”

The angel tested the word in his mouth, silently, blinking and relocating his gaze to Dean’s feet. He spoke, softly, voice still much rougher than what Dean had expected from the angel.

“Hello, Dean.”

Castiel had crept closer as he spoke, only inches away now, tensed as if to retreat. He tested Dean’s expression momentarily, before ducking his head, touching his dark hair against Dean’s fingertips. Dean saw Chuck smile, relieved, from the corner of his eye, and it was more automatic than it should have been to rest his palm against the crown of Castiel’s head, fingertips sinking into the dark hair. The angel sighed, barely nudged upward into Dean’s palm, wings sinking, submissive at his sides.

It was weird: petting an angel like he would a cat but, really, it was all he could do right now, and he guessed it was the right thing to do because Chuck was coming forward, the angels creeping back into a group once he’d moved out of their space. Dean’s hand slipped from Castiel’s hair and the angel glanced up from where he was almost crouched on the floor. Sam remained away so as not to frighten him: maybe Dean hadn’t given him enough credit for knowing so much about angels. Chuck touched Castiel on the shoulder lightly, indicating he should stand, and the angel did, offering his wrist almost automatically for Chuck to take hold of his chain.

“Right.” Chuck said, casting a smile at Castiel. “If everything’s okay here?”

He was asking if Dean was sure he wanted the angel. Dean’s eyes slid over him, from head to toe. Last chance to back out…He sighed, knowing he was probably about to make a horrible mistake, before nodding.

Chuck’s smile widened, and Dean wondered if Chuck cared that much about the angels to be happy to see them get new homes. Chuck gestured toward the door, and Dean didn’t hesitate to exit, only glancing back when he wasn’t followed. Sam was talking to Chuck, Castiel having retreated behind the smaller man to avoid Sam’s imposing height. Dean couldn’t hear what they were saying, watched Sam gesture toward the group of shifting angels, before leaving entirely, leaning against the outer wall and giving himself a second to breathe.

Had he really done that? Bought an angel after all his arguments against it? God, he was more like his baby brother than he’d thought.

Sam exited too, after a few moments (the giant actually had to duck a little to fit through the door), followed shortly by Chuck, leading Castiel slowly by the wrist. Dean didn’t miss Castiel’s longing glance back toward his brothers and sisters, and if the noises from within, soft footfalls and wings against the floor, were any indication, his nestmates weren’t keen to see him go either. Regardless, Chuck turned, facing Castiel away from the other angels, and locked the door. Chuck turned to Sam and Dean, not yielding to Castiel’s light tugs toward the bolted door.

“If you guys want to go wait out front in your car, we’ll come round with Castiel in a little while. Can you remember the way back out?”

Dean didn’t respond, but Sam nodded.  _Of course Sam would know the way out_ , Dean thought snidely.  _He’d been here plenty of times_.

Chuck spoke to Dean with a soft frown. “And you’re driving…?”

Dean’s response was automatic. “’67 Impala. Black.”

Chuck nodded, turned toward the side door on the other end of the room, and began to walk, coaxing Castiel, wide-eyed and nervous, along with him. “I know, Castiel. It’s okay, come on.”

They made their way to the entrance in silence, Sam raising a hand to the receptionist in farewell.

Only when Dean felt safe in the confines of the impala did they speak, Sam shrugging out of his coat as Dean started the engine.

“So…happy with your choice?”

Dean considered his answer before responding, shrugging, dodging the sleeve of Sam’s jacket as it was tossed into the rear seat.

“Happy as I can be, I guess.”

Sam paused before seeming to accept that that was the best he could expect given the situation. They didn’t have long to wait, before long one of the white trucks was emerging from the side of the building; emblazoned with the company logo. Dean knew that Castiel was inside there, and the thought gave him both an odd, muted thrill of excitement and a niggle of dread in the back of his mind. He spotted Chuck seated beside the driver in the truck’s passenger seat, and raised a hand to him before pulling out.

He narrowed his eyes, peering at the truck in the rearview mirror. He was sure that whenever Sam picked up a single slave they simply loaded it into the rear seat and let Sam drive it home himself, why would Castiel need a whole truck…?

Dean frowned, glancing, eyes-narrowed at Sam.

“Sam?”

His brother turned to him, all innocence, and that was all Dean needed to see. “What?”

Dean groaned, would have dropped his head between his arms if he hadn’t been driving a particularly difficult stretch of road. He spoke with the groan still in his voice.

“Don’t tell me you got  _more_ angels?”

Sam raised his hands, half-defensive, and for a moment Dean thought he was going to deny it.

“No! Well…yeah. But only two!”

Dean sighed. “How many is that now? Seven?”

“Six. I’ve only got Inias at home, Dean. Do you think he likes being surrounded by demons? It’s only a couple of angels to keep him company.”

Dean inhaled deeply, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Sam liked the company too much. He always did have a heart too big for his own good. Dean spoke, conceding interest. “Which ones?”

Sam picked at a fingernail, pausing before responding. “Anna -that’s the redhead, and Samandriel.”

Dean nodded shortly.  _S-A-M_ probably would have been his choice had he not noticed Castiel.

He spoke again, too tired to manage full sarcasm. “Well, I hope Inias enjoys his new playmates. And that you don’t get any angel-versus-demon battles going on.”

Sam huffed a laugh beside him, turned toward the window, and Dean decided he didn’t want to talk about angels again for at least half an hour. Pressing ‘play’ on the cassette in the player, he stubbornly didn’t think about angels and tried to ignore the looming white van following him home.


	2. It's far too early to be up on a Saturday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester wasn't expecting the angel in his room.

The white truck disappeared into the distance, following the blurred shape of Sam’s car that Dean shut out when he closed the door. He didn’t turn at first, aware of the shifting sounds behind him as Castiel cautiously explored his new surroundings, running his fingers along his living room floor with the soft clink of his identity tag dragging across the wood. As far as Dean knew, Castiel had lived on the smooth stone within the confines his whole life, something as simple as oak flooring was enough to distract him.

Dean leant his forehead against his door for a moment, eyes closed. This was such a stupid idea. He was going to  _kill_  Sam if this went too badly. Drawing in a deep breath, Dean turned, finding Castiel a few feet away, sat back on his haunches, running a single fingertip along the spines of Dean’s stacked CDs, head cocked slightly as if reading the titles. Dean watched his wings shift and rearrange themselves on the angel’s back, before taking a few steps forward, dropping his keys onto the coffee table with a jarring sound that dragged Castiel’s wide-eyed gaze back to him. Digging his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels, Dean managed a half-smile that the angel didn’t return, before sagging slightly, dropping his gaze to the floor, scuffing his shoe against a persistent scratch on the floor and speaking, voice admittedly a little too harsh.

“Look, Castiel, I’m not gonna lie to you, I wasn’t…I wasn’t prepared for this.”

Castiel frowned, dipped his head in response to the hardness in Dean’s voice, right hand coming up to finger the tag still hanging around his wrist. It seemed automatic, a response to nerves more than anything else, and Dean kept his eyes fixed on the rapid motions of Castiel’s fingers as he continued.

“I’m not really…I didn’t  _want_  an angel.” He tried to say it as kindly as he could, but Castiel’s fingers faltered nonetheless, before picking up their previous pace. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to need a drink after all this. “I mean…” He took a deep breath through his nose, dropping his hand to his side and continuing tiredly. “Nothing. Just…nothing. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?” Even though he had no intention of continuing this conversation ever again, he noted Castiel’s jerky nod. “Okay then.”

Without sparing another glance Castiel’s way, he headed toward the kitchen, mentally kicking himself for hurting the angel’s feelings within ten minutes of getting him into the house. He was nearly out of beer, but he’d take anything tonight. He carried two bottles one-handed back to the living room, catching sight of Castiel still motionless beside the CD racks. Dean tried not to glance his way as he distractedly changed TV channels, eventually settling on some hockey game he didn’t really care about and settling back onto the couch cushion, balancing one beer bottle on the arm of the couch as he opened the other.

Ten minutes into the game and Dean had actually relaxed a little (maybe that was the half-bottle of beer he’d already managed to drink). It was only then that Castiel emerged into his line of sight, creeping from behind the couch to observe him from a few feet away. Dean saw him avert his gaze to the TV, tilt his head in interest and it may have been Dean’s imagination, but he thought he saw a small smile tilt the angel’s lips. Five minutes passed of Dean’s gaze flickering from the angel to the TV, and each time he looked back, the angel had crept incrementally closer, until he was at the arm of the couch, casting one, wary glance at Dean before relaxing against the outer side of the chair. Dean rejected the urge to pull away the arm he’d rested on the armrest, and after a minute or so, became aware of the tickle of feathers against his elbow. He knew that if he relaxed his hand, let it drop over the edge of the couch, he could stroke his fingers through the angel’s hair like he had back at the confine. Part of him was tempted, to enjoy this as much as he could because despite his arguments, things did get lonely around here, and if he could have a responsive, affectionate angel who obeyed his every wish…well, why not? His fingers twitched before he curled them into a fist. No. He didn’t  _need_  the angel. Didn’t even  _want_  him. He’d get through this week and take Castiel back. Or maybe Sam would take him in. Dean told himself he didn’t really care.

He heard Castiel shift slightly, settle more comfortably on the floor, eyes flickering over the TV screen with unveiled interest. Dean took another swig of his beer, resting the bottle against his thigh as he spoke.

“You watched TV before?”

Castiel’s eyes turned to him without pause, dipped to the bottle in Dean’s hand before replying.

“Yes.” He intoned, to Dean’s surprise. The confine didn’t seem like the kind of place to provide entertainment. Castiel seemed to catch Dean’s expression, brows raised slightly, and turned to face him more fully, curling his hands over the armrest on either side of Dean’s relaxed arm. “When we were all younger -my nestmates and I, our carers would often show us television shows depicting places beyond our confine.” His gaze drifted a little in memory, lips tilting in an echo of a smile. “It was only on occasion, but we enjoyed it. Especially Gabriel.” Dean didn’t recognise the name, but assumed it was one of Castiel’s nestmates. Despite himself, he was intrigued.

“So wait. Have you been outside of your… _confine_  before today?”

Castiel hesitated to answer: ducking his head a little. He traced a seemingly random pattern against the fabric of the couch with his little finger.

“Once. We all went out in the trucks a few weeks ago.” He frowned gently, wings unsettling against his back. His eyes darted up to meet Dean’s. “They had to get us ready to go to our new masters.”

Dean didn’t know exactly what that entailed. Maybe he’d ask Sam if he still cared by tomorrow. He raised his bottle to his lips again, eyes going back to the game on TV but not really watching it. Castiel’s roaming pinkie finger bumped the side of his thumb in its route and the angel flinched, recoiled, dropping both hands out of sight. Dean’s eyes slid from Castiel’s warily dipped eyes to his tense shoulders, the dark feathers visible above the taut line of them. He reminded Dean of Inias, Sam’s fist angel. When Sam had first bought the angel home he could barely bear to look Sam in the eye. Dean knew it was natural for angels to behave that way, to obey whatever master they could identify. If anything, Dean could be pleased that Castiel wasn’t submissive to the extreme Inias had been.

Dean swilled the dregs of his beer in the bottle, peering at the second bottle he’d relocated to the coffee table. He’d save that one for tomorrow. God knew how much he’d need it after a Saturday spent with the angel. Finishing what was left of the beer in his first bottle, he stood, not responding to Castiel’s flinch or the way he slunk out of the way to tuck himself beside the CDs again. Dean passed him on his way to replace the second bottle in the fridge and glanced at the clock. It was late enough to realistically go to bed. Stretching his arms languidly over his head, the pleasant buzz of alcohol swimming through him, he called to the black flight feathers he could see around the edge of his stacked CDs.

“Castiel?”

The angel peered around the obstruction, figertips pressing into the spines of the CDs, taking one crouched step forward and pausing. Dean continued anyway, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel shook his head almost immediately, and Dean nodded shortly. “Well, I’m going to bed. You gonna sleep in there or do you want me to give you an actual bed?”

He’d meant it as a joke, a weak attempt at humour but apparently that was something angels lacked. Castiel finally met his gaze with a mix of confusion and panic at the given choice, and Dean couldn’t repress the roll of his eyes. “Come on.” He half-extended a hand, as if luring a timid dog. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.” Castiel stood fully, relief evident in his eyes, and raised his own hand as if by habit, as he’d done when Chuck had led him from his pen. Dean only realised after he’d done it that his fingers had curled around the metal circling Castiel’s wrist, warmed from a lifetime of being worn. He mentally shrugged and turned, leading Castiel down the short hallway. He pointed to the first door they came across but didn’t stop.

“That’s my room.” He gestured then to the door at the furthest end of the hall. “That’s the bathroom.” He saw Castiel nod, felt the angel’s fingers twitch and brush the heel of his hand.

They paused at the second door, Dean using his spare hand to push it open. The door had a slight creak that made Castiel flinch, eye the door warily as if it’d bite him. Dean searched the wall for the lightswitch, released Castiel’s chain when he found it and clicked the light on. Castiel lingered in the doorway as Dean went in further, curling his own fingers around his chain. Dean guessed the feeling of it soothed him.

Dean’s guest room was almost always made up. Sam was likely to make surprise visits every now and then and Dean could never spare enough time to get the room ready at short notice. He approached the plain cream bedspread, pulling back the cover and replacing the pillows more comfortably.

“Right.” He started, patting the covers once in finality before turning back to Castiel. “All set.” He didn’t miss the anxiety in Castiel’s gaze, or the way he was pulling the chain around his wrist so taut that is bleached the surrounding skin into whiteness. Castiel came slowly into the room, toes curling into the deep carpet, his eyes rising to meet Dean’s.

Dean moved past him into the doorway, searching the wall for the lightswitch again and shutting it off. Castiel glanced around the room, now bathed in darkness, despite the fact that the hallway light still provided enough brightness not to render the room completely black. Castiel’s eyes glinted in the low light, wings curling slightly around his arms in some semblance of a hug. Dean felt sympathetic. The angel looked scared, a night away from his brothers and sisters had to be intimidating. Dean’s voice came out gentler than he’d intended it to.

“Want me to leave the door open?”

Castiel hesitated before nodding, releasing the chain around his wrist, flexing his hands into fists before relaxing them again. Dean began to swing the door closed, but paused.

“I’ll be right across the hall…just wake me up if you need anything.”

Castiel didn’t respond, eyes falling to settle on the now-made bed, and that’s how Dean left him. Once inside his own room, Dean wasted no time stripping down, shoving himself into the first sleeping shirt he could find and sliding under the covers, too tired to try and find something other than boxers to wear.

His last thought, oddly, before he slipped into unconsciousness, was that he’d have to go and buy Castiel some more clothes.

__

Dean cracked his eyes open to darkness.

Or, not darkness, there was sun coming through his still-closed curtains but not enough brightness to be awake. Dean rolled over with a groan. On the weekends he could happily sleep until midday or later, but he wouldn’t put the hour anything past eight.

His frustrated wondering about what had woken him up, however, were interrupted by movement at the foot of his bed. Sitting upright and blinking through sleep-bleary eyes, Dean focused on dark wings, shielding a pale expanse of back and waist, a pair of arms curled under a thick head of hair. The intruder had his legs curled up close to his chest, one wing draped half-over them. He was sleeping, face tense, but the dark shadows under his eyes were enough to indicate that he mustn’t have slept much last night at all.

All of this was catalogued in a couple of moments of processing from Dean’s tired mind before he caught up with himself, shoving himself upright and away from the angel, up against the headboard.

“Castiel! What the hell!?”

The angel woke immediately, jolting himself onto his knees, frozen for a moment in shock, eyes wide and uncomprehending on Dean’s face, where he was undoubtedly angry. Then Castiel was sinking, low on the bed, and slipping on his knees onto the floor. His wings pressed flat, unthreatening to the ground and Dean shoved his covers aside, swung his legs out of bed with a fierce exclamation.

“Why _the hell_  were you in my bed?”

Castiel cowered away from Dean’s shout, fisting his hands on his knees and speaking in a voice that was soft and sleep-rough.

“I’m sorry, you said to come if I needed you and I was – I needed you, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I’m sorry.”

Dean blinked. It was too early for this. He closed his eyes, exhaled heavily through his nose and tried not to shout.

“I said to  _wake me up_  if you needed me. Not crawl into bed and make yourself at home.”

Castiel closed his eyes, as if hiding, and whined, baring his teeth a little. “I know, I’m sorry, I tried but I couldn’t…Didn’t want to wake you and it was an accident.”

Dean heaved a sigh, scrubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. He couldn’t be angry, shouldn’t be angry. He worried he’d break the angel forever if he shouted at him any more. He opened his eyes again, saw that Castiel’s were still shut tight and extended a hand to touch the angel’s shoulder, faltering slightly before settling. Castiel was too tense under his hand to flinch.

“Look, Castiel, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

The angel half-shook his head, turning his face away, and Dean’s hand moved of it’s own accord rubbing across the bare skin of Castiel’s shoulder, fingertips brushing the short feathers at the base of his wings.

“Come on, Castiel. Really, It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

Castiel was unresponsive under his hand for two long moments, before relaxing with a shuddering sigh. Dean curled his fingers into the soft feathers at the joint of the angel’s wing, scratching through them before moving his hand back up to Castiel’s shoulder. The angel turned his head to stare dully at the floor, voice coming soft.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” The shoulder beneath Dean’s hand flexed, rolled subtly beneath his palm and he took the cautious hint, returned to soothing the angel’s ragged nerves with gentle strokes down, to the base of his wing and back upward again. “What did you need? Why did you come in here in the first place?”

Castiel didn’t reply for a moment, pressing into Dean’s touch when his fingertips glanced along the side of his neck.

“I was…lonely.”

Dean’s fingers faltered, before continuing their path.

“Lonely?”

Castiel nodded. “I’ve never slept alone before.”

Oh. Well, that explained things. Dean sighed, bringing his hand to run fingertips through Castiel’s messed hair, letting his palm rest for a moment as he spoke.

“Did you sleep? Last night, I mean. Did you get much?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Not until I came in here. I meant to wake you but I didn’t- didn’t want to.”

Dean petted the angel’s dark hair once before dropping his hand entirely. He could only handle so much touchy-feely stuff at once. Especially at this time in the morning. He stood, avoiding knocking Castiel accidentally, and snatched his jeans from the floor where he’d dropped them yesterday.

He tugged them over his legs, buttoning them hastily as he spoke.

“You hungry? Don’t answer that, I’ll go make some breakfast. You come on out when you’re ready.”

Dean left the door hanging mostly open, catching the sight of Castiel standing, stretching his wings behind himself. Those things were  _huge_. Dean’s kitchen was sorely lacking in supplies – he hadn’t actually been shopping in two weeks. He had the basics, though, enough to make a few slices of toast, sipping from a mug of coffee as he waited for the toast to finish.

Five minutes later, and Castiel still hadn’t emerged. Frowning, Dean set down his coffee mug, took Castiel’s plateful of toast in hand and headed toward his room. He almost knocked, but scolded himself, this was _his_ room,  _his_  angel- No, not his. Dean winced to himself. He’d better not get attached to the damn angel; he still intended to be saying his goodbyes by the end of the week. Pushing open the door with his free hand, Dean started talking even before he was all the way in.

“Hey Cas. I didn’t know what you wanted and I don’t have much so I just-”

Dean stopped abruptly, stood motionless just inside the door. Where he’d previously been on the floor, Castiel had relocated, curled halfway up Dean’s bed, half tucked under his thrown-back covers, wings spread across the width of the mattress and the longest feathers hanging over the edges. He didn’t snore, but his breaths were deep, even, the rise of his breaths obvious even beneath the cover of his wings.

Dean watched him dumbly for a couple of moments. He couldn’t wake him, the poor guy had hardly slept the night before and Dean would, admittedly, feel bad for making the angel’s morning more stressful than he had already.

He spared a glance down at the plate in his hands with a sigh. Seemed like breakfast would have to wait.


End file.
